Kevin Costner's here to save the world... WTF?

So, I was online today just doing some snooping around - you know - trying to find stuff to entertain me during my remaining 2 hours here at work, and I come across this story.

Now, as a rule of thumb, I try to avoid anything involving Kevin Costner. This includes but is not limited to: Robin Hood, Tin Cup, The Postman, and Swing Vote. In fact, the only exception that I'll normally make is for Waterworld... it's a classic, can you blame me?

I Digress

So here I was with just another Kevin Costner item that I was happy to bypass when it struck me that this wasn't just KC participating in another terribly acted movie. This was KC trying to do something for this world. So, against my better judgement, I click on it...



This begs the question of, WTF?!?

Is the world really in such bad shape that we need Kevin Effin' Costner creating some kind of Brita filter for the Ocean? I mean at least give me an actor that I can trust with this level of importance.

Kiefer Sutherland comes to mind, as does Chuck Norris - at least these guys are badass enough to handle this situation the right way. You want the oil pipe fixed? Put a snorkel on Chuck Norris and let him do his thang. Problem solved.

Listen, I know that there's environmental issues at hand here. I know that we should all do our part to try to make this world a better, cleaner place. But the day that I let Kevin Costner do the fixin' for me is the day that I give up on humanity.


- A very distraught Jack Asher

Do I look like either of these guys?

People never tell me that I've got "one of those faces". You know - the type of face that just looks familiar. Yet, four times over this past month, people have actually gone out of their way to tell me that I look like these two guys.

Zdeno Chara, Bruins Defenseman




Andy Petit, The Evil Empire (The Yankees)











Don't get me wrong - I'm kinda flattered, it's nice to kinda sorta look like a famous athlete. However, I have no clue how anyone sees any resemblance. Am I the only one that's totally confused by this?

In any case, while it's all fine and good to be compared to these athletes, I'm still holding out for people comparing me to Brad Pitt (from Fight Club, not Benjamin Button).

Footloose Part 2: My problems are solved.

So there I was just days ago worrying about my lack of dancing skills due to my upcoming reception to follow our nuptuals. And then I stumble upon this... All my problems are solved, and not just the dancing problems either. I mean, obviously I'm going to take a page out of this guys book and rip it up on the dance floor, but it's more than that. This video just makes everything in life that much better. I feel as though my food tastes better, that the sun shines brighter.


For those of you coming to the wedding, you know where to find me. I'll be on the dance flo', just walkin' it out.

On a side note, anyone know where I can find a belt like this guy has?




Thanks to barstoolsports for bringing this to the masses.



- Jack Asher

I don't hate ANYTHING as much as Arizona hates Mexicans

This is saying a lot for me, ‘cause I hate a lot of things. I hate waking up before the sun’s up on most days, for instance. I also hate overcooked steaks, but I digress.

There’s been a lot in the news over the past few weeks about Arizona’s new law that requires immigrants to carry around their registration documents, and enforces a zero tolerance policy on illegal immigrants. I’m not going to dive into my personal beliefs about this law because, frankly, I don’t really enjoy talking politics. Besides, everything that could have been said about this legislation has been said. Everyone from Glenn Beck to John Stewart, and even a few well respected reporters have gone on the air and spoken at length about their views of this new law. At this point, I’m over it. I think I have a solid understanding of both sides view in the matter - and I have my own opinions on it. Case closed.

And then BOOM! Imagine my surprise when I come into work today, and I go to CNN.com, as I normally do to start off the day, and right there on it’s home page is a report entitled: “Arizona bans ethnic studies in public schools”.

You’re f***ing with me, right?

At this point, I don’t even think the Arizona state government is doing these things to align with their political ideals. I think that they’re doing it because A) They’re publicity whores, or B) They honestly hate Mexicans more than I’ve ever hated anything in my entire life.

I can almost understand it if they’re doing it for the publicity. After all, how often is anything having to do with Arizona ever in the media? If you were to ask me to list in order the most important states in America, Arizona would be right near the bottom along with North Dakota, and Canada. If this is in fact the reason behind their madness, then by all means, I hope they enjoy their 15 minutes of fame.

Now the alternative, on the other hand, I just can’t fathom. There’s no way that people can hate Mexicans that much in real life. Think about all the great contributions that Mexico has given us over the years… Taco Bell comes to mind, as does Tequila – although I highly recommend not mixing the two.


All in all, the matter is out of my hands. Arizona, I hope you enjoy your Mexican free state. Oh, by the way, I also hope you don’t mind that pretty much every city that’s not overrun by rednecks is embargo-ing your ass.



- Jack Asher

Footloose

The wedding is fast approaching, and I still don’t know how to dance. At all.

I guess I’m just so used to getting by on my wit and charm alone, that I never really cared that dancing was just one skill I never mastered. When I say I don’t know how to dance, I mean that I don’t know how to dance. Elaine Benes from Seinfeld could dance circles around me.

It’s not as though I haven’t tried either. Throughout my life, several friends have tried to teach me, including Wifey, who actually majored in dance. It’s not their fault, really. I’m just not teachable. When they try to teach me how to Tango, my internal rhythm says Cha-cha. When they try to teach me to dance to hip-hop, my internal rhythm automatically goes to the funky chicken.

I’m not so worried about the first dance; it’s a slow dance which is something I’ve been decent at since the 7th grade. Back then we made sure to keep our distance between us and our dance partner - I’m pretty sure the same thing applies in your mid 20’s, right?


I digress…


I’m not so worried about the slow stuff, I’m more worried about the faster songs - the kind that actually takes a sense of rhythm to dance to. I guess one option is just to avoid the dance floor all together with during those songs – after all, I’m going to have to schmooze throughout this wedding anyway, might as well make sure I do it at the most opportune times.

What’s that? Oh, you want me to come dance? Sorry – I’m actually catching up with Crazy Aunt Betsy who’s telling me a riveting story about her pottery class.


Then there’s the second option of only doing the dancing I know – which includes the aforementioned chicken dance, and the ever popular fist pump (courtesy of MTV’s “Jersey Shore”). But something tells me that Wifey would not approve.


I guess the last option is to learn how to dance in a hurry. That means that I can either park my ass in front of the TV while watching Kevin Bacon in Footloose until it just sinks in, or I can try my luck with some brave soul who’s willing to teach me. Any volunteers will be asked to sign a waver admonishing me of any guilt in the case of broken toes.


Any takers?



- Jack Asher

The Awkward Stage

I’ve run into a bit of a problem over the past week or so. You see, Wifey and I have these grand plans to put up framed pictures of ourselves on this mantle at the wedding – you know, pictures of us growing up from when we were kids and all that. Well, after going through all the pictures I could find, I’m really only comfortable putting up pictures of me between the ages of 0-6, and 17 – present. Why can’t I put up pictures of me between the ages of 6 and 17? Because I was one awkward mofo.

Listen, all boys have awkward stages, usually they’re between the ages of 12 and 15 or so. Mine lasted a bit longer. Pretty much, if adult me were to come across me at any point between 6 & 17 – I would be forced to turn to Wifey and say “Holy S**t, that’s one awkward kid”.

So, by now those of you who remember me during those years are thinking to yourselves – “Holy s**t, he really was totally awkward” – but the rest of you who didn’t know me during that time may be wondering what about me could have been so bad. Let’s dig a little deeper, shall we?

The Clothes – Listen, I can’t blame anyone but myself here. I mean, of course it didn’t help that this phase took place during the early 90’s – but that’s no excuse. I just couldn’t care less about what I was wearing – ever. My jeans were generally too short, my shirts were just embarrassingly out of sync with the current decade, and generally three sizes too large for my scrawny, scrawny self. I remember once in 8th grade, I didn’t have a clean collared shirt to wear to school (my school required all kids to have a collared, tucked in shirt), so I just grabbed one of my dads XL shirts – without the slightest notion of how ridiculous I looked. You see, I really didn’t care about how I looked, the only two things that were ever on my mind at that age were: girls, and The Simpsons (in that order). Little did I know that improvements in my overall appearance may have had some effect on the girls. The Simpsons, however, loved me no matter what.

The Hair – Ok, this might be what really brought the whole awkward-ness phase together for me. No boy in his early teenage years should ever, EVER, be allowed to decide on his own haircut – I realize this only now. Much too late I’m afraid. Ok, here it goes. I had long hair, but not long enough for it to look like I rocked out. Nope, it was just under chin length. And it was parted in the middle. Oh, and if that wasn’t enough – it was all too often over-gelled. I swear it’s not as though I was actually trying to win the award for most awkward kid in North America – it just kinda happened. Again, I have no one to blame but myself. My parents and sisters all tried to convince me to chop off the excess ‘do’ – but I was having none of it. I knew that I looked like a rock star, and I was damn proud of that hair.

The Braces – Honestly, this was just the icing on the cake for me. With our without the braces, I was awkward as F***. But if there were any doubts about my awkwardness, the braces cleared it all up. Here I was a kid of 13, with clothes that didn’t fit, a redonkulous hair cut, and unable to say three words without spitting on the person I was speaking with.


Oh, did I mention that I was a smelly kid too. (I’m not too sure about this one, but I’m willing to bet it was the case).



I have pictures of myself during this phase – I have quite a few actually, but you can bet your ass that I’m not posting them on this blog. It’s embarrassing enough having to live with the knowledge that I was the kid that made everyone say “Holy S**t, that kid’s awkward”.





- Jack Asher

Definition of a bad idea...

Today was starting out so good. I woke up at exactly 4:39AM, 6 minutes before my alarm clock goes off, which meant that I was able to turn it off and get up without waking up Wifey. Decidedly a good start.

Because I leave home twice a week at the ungodly hour of 5:30, there was no traffic, and I got the best parking spot at my office building – it pretty much faces directly towards the exit so that when I leave for the day, I never have to look back at this awful place.

I get into the office at 6AM, and as per usual, nobody else is here. This is nice for two distinct reasons. 1. I don’t have to listen to my whiny-ass co-workers for the first 3 hours of work, and 2. I am free to fart as loud, and as frequently as I please. So far, I’m batting 1000.

I make a few phone calls, and the day’s going by pretty quickly. After-all, I only have to work until around 2 or 3, since I came in so early. And at this point, I’m pretty psyched. I have these grand plans to go home, rest for a little bit, and then go for a nice 4-5 mile run around the Charles River, because it is truly a beautiful day.


And then it happens…


At Noon, I head into the cafeteria where I usually purchase my lunch, and I take a look at the daily specials:

- Baked Meatloaf with Mashed Potatoes
- Classic Reuben Sandwich
- Chicken and Vegetable Curry
- Egg Salad Wrap
- Some Kind of Weird Quiche


So I take a look at the options, and I decided that today, I’m going to be worldly, I’m going to go with the Chicken and Vegetable Curry. I order my food, and wait a couple minutes for the guy behind the counter to hand me my meal.

When he does, it feels as though I was just handed a cinder block in a brown paper bag. This thing was heavy! If I had to guesstimate, I’d say that it easily weighed around 3 pounds.

No Problem, I tell myself – I’ll just eat half of it, and save the rest for tomorrow’s lunch. Yeah… that didn’t happen. Anyone that knows me can attest that if there’s food in front of me, it doesn’t stand a chance.

3 LB of Chicken and Curry later, I’m sweating like an Injun in the Alamo (did I mention it’s hot out today?), I smell like the dude that sits diagonal from me (which is not a good thing), and I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to stand up to walk to my car any time soon, let alone go for a 4-5 mile run.




Definition of a bad idea.




- Jack Asher

Shenannigans in Montreal, Eh?

Well, I’ve put a lot of thought into this post - that's actually totally false- I just put it together a minute ago. Regardless, I feel as though it’s necessary to let people know how the bachelor party went last weekend, but at the same time, I don’t want to simply list out detail by detail all that happened during our time in Montreal – that would be boring and lengthy. What I will say, however, is that I have absolutely no regrets about the past weekend, my conscience is as clean as a whistle, and that this past weekend with some of my best friends completely and utterly surpassed my expectations.

My friends are not super-wealthy at this point in their lives, nor would I expect them to be. We’ve all only been out of school for just a couple years, less in some cases. So when I found out that we were heading to Montreal for the weekend, I just kind of assumed that we’d be budgeting-it-up a bit. That assumption was confirmed when the best man sent me a picture of the hotel we’d be staying at; a small hotel in Montreal, quaint, but pretty nice:










And then we got to the hotel that we were really staying at, The InterContinental Hotel in downtown Montreal. This, apparently, would be the theme throughout the weekend.



Every where we went, everything we did - we did it in a big way. When we went to a club, the guys didn’t purchase drinks from the bar, they ordered a VIP table with a bottle of Grey Goose. When we went to the pub for a few beers, we didn’t get pints, we got gallons. When we went out for our meals, we didn’t get burgers, we got filet mignon. And so it went throughout the weekend, over-indulgence was the name of the game. I ate and drank more in one weekend than I have in the past two weeks combined.

Did I need all this? Of course not… honestly just having the opportunity to watch Petey Pancakes ask strippers to marry him and let him take them back to America would have been more than enough entertainment for the weekend. But these guys went above and beyond their duties this weekend.

Thank you to the Best Man, Petey Pancakes-The Boy Wonder, The Doc, Angry McJameson, and The Pharmacist for an incredible time, let’s do it again sometime soon.


Jack Asher